Chapter 13 The Ball #2
As the old lord left the podium, Elias stepped forward in his mysterious black mask.
The duke looked every inch a noble warrior as he descended the stairs, broad-shouldered in a deep navy tailcoat, a row of polished medals decorating his left breast. His black hair was slicked back against his head.
The half-mask obscured his scarred face, though Celise’s eyes found the patch of shiny white scar tissue at his jaw, which disappeared into his starched collar and silk cravat.
He looked arrogant, haughty and far more handsome in the mask than Celise had expected.
She felt an odd thump in her chest when his gaze passed over her. His confidence was striking.
He paused at the front of the room for a long moment, gazing at them all, his expression unreadable.
Then he approached the line of breathless ladies.
Celise found herself trembling alongside every other young woman in the row, her body as tightly wound as a violin string.
Every girl in attendance was filled with apprehension: fear of the duke’s reputation mingled with the desire to become a duchess.
Celise almost pitied the Mad Dog. None of the young ladies truly wished to court him—they were simply enamored by his title and the mystique of his black mask.
The ballroom hummed with anticipation, and the young ladies all stood a notch taller as the duke walked down their line.
Celise shrank back a bit. Elias approached at a leisurely pace, a coy half-smile on his wide lips.
His silver eyes, cool as steel, swept down the row, assessing them one by one.
Celise wondered what he was looking for. What traits did he prize in a lady?
Would he recognize her?
She swallowed past a lump in her throat.
Her heart began to race as Elias neared her position in line. Now was the moment of truth. Her thoughts tumbled—He’ll remember. He must. The gardens, the woods, the Hellion . . . I stole his jacket . . . how could he forget?
But when Elias reached her, he did not pause. Not even a second glance. His gaze slid past her, as though she were a cotton handkerchief on a table of silk and lace. No flicker of recognition. No change in his expression. Nothing.
Her fingers tightened on the fabric of her skirt. Why doesn’t he remember me?
Then Elias halted.
Katrina, radiant in deep red taffeta, tilted her head and beamed up at the duke with a look of triumph.
Elias offered her a gloved hand. “Lady Katrina Dhastel, would you grant me this first dance?”
A gasp escaped someone nearby. Celise didn’t know if it came from her own lips.
“He knows her name?” Ismara next to her whispered.
The crowd began to buzz.
“Who did he choose?”
“Is that one of the Dhastel daughters?”
“Do they know each other? He seems familiar with her.”
As Elias led Katrina onto the empty dance floor, the orchestra stirred to life. A violin started to play, then a cello, then a viola. The first notes of a lively, romantic waltz drifted through the room.
As though to amplify the magic of the night, little vents in the ceiling of the ballroom opened, and a shower of rose petals drifted down upon the guests. The ladies all gasped and looked upward.
“It’s beautiful!” Ismara sighed.
“How romantic!” Celise heard Heather gush.
Elias swept Katrina onto the dance floor and twirled her into a fast, passionate waltz. Katrina floated like a leaf on the wind. She looked perfect.
Celise hung back, confused. She thought of Elias’s dismissive eyes as he glanced past her. Did the duke truly not recognize her at all? What about the hairpin? His threat to arrest her? Wasn’t he looking for her just that morning?
All of her apprehension had been for nothing.
Lady Ambrosia, standing a bit farther down the line of women, flicked open her violet fan to hide a scowl. Then she whirled on her heel and stalked away from the dance floor.
Celise watched Elias lead Katrina gracefully around the polished marble ballroom.
Light on his feet, Elias’s dancing was elegant and confident.
He turned Katrina in perfect time to the music like a clockwork doll.
Katrina looked stunning in her vibrant dress, a perfect match to Elias’s navy blue tailcoat and pants.
The young duke appeared to be a skilled dancer, but Celise seemed to recall Old Blackwood criticizing his son’s dancing.
She turned to Heather, who had joined her side. She asked, “Didn’t the old lord, Cornelius Blackwood, say that Elias couldn’t dance? I thought he trampled a lady’s lapdog.”
“It must have been a joke,” Heather mumbled back, then continued to watch the dancing couple with wide, envious eyes.
Celise still felt uneasy. Maybe it was a joke, but .
. . something seemed amiss. She pursed her lips.
She probably looked different in her gray gown, with her face powdered and her hair pinned up.
Elias had encountered her under the cover of darkness in the deep woods.
They only got a brief look at each other in the lantern light before she fled upon his horse.
But her unique color of raspberry hair—a shade darker than magenta with violet undertones—was uncommon in Forsynthia. Her features were more like her mother’s from Sera’naya. She was also the shortest in attendance. Wouldn’t Elias at least notice her?
Perhaps he doesn’t remember me at all from yesterday, she thought.
Why did that disappoint her?
Didn’t she want to avoid the duke?
She felt conflicted. It was distressing.
As Lord Elias twirled Katrina around the dance floor, more gentlemen approached the row of eligible ladies.
Ismara was one of the first girls to be asked, and then more and more couples paired up and began to dance.
Celise felt a sense of alarm. Uh-oh. She couldn’t stay out in the open like this.
She didn’t know how to waltz. If someone asked her to dance, it would be an utter disaster!
A young man wearing a cream-colored suit bowed to Heather, who blushed happily.
The two entered the waltz, and Celise found herself standing alone at the edge of the dance floor.
She shrank a few yards back into the crowd of guests, eager to put a barrier between herself and the whirling, gliding couples.
She found safety behind one of the marble columns.
Her eyes found Katrina again. She watched her sister dance with Elias for three songs. Then His Grace deposited her gently at the edge of the floor. After a proper bow, he held out his hand to another partner and twirled the next young noblewoman away.
Katrina rejoined Celise’s side after collecting a glass of wine from one of the passing servants. She pulled out her fan and began airing her face.
“Did you see us?” Katrina gushed, as though forgetting who Celise was. “Did you see the duke? He danced with me for three songs! It means something, don’t you think?” With a pleased smile, she added, “He said my dress was stunning!”
Celise nodded. “You’re very lucky, dear sister.”
“Luck? It’s fate!” Katrina gushed. “I’m going to tell Mother all about it. She will be so very pleased! Don’t disappear again, Sluggy. If you ruin this for me, you’ll regret the day you were born!”
Then Katrina flounced off through the crowd.
Celise sighed. She swayed gently to the music as she watched Lord Elias. He danced with partner after partner. He seemed quite comfortable with a woman in his arms. Very unlike the gloomy recluse she had assumed him to be.
Before long, the musicians took a brief break.
Between dances, Elias approached the refreshment table.
He stood only a few yards away from Celise’s position behind the marble pillar.
She watched him with narrowed eyes. The duke wasn’t alone for very long.
Only a minute passed before he was surrounded by a colorful flock of female admirers.
His reputation seemed to have vanished under the spell of wine and dancing.
The ladies fluttered about, flirting and giggling, and Elias seemed to enjoy the attention.
His booming laugh carried over the music.
Katrina joined them, slipping through the crowd to the duke’s side and clinging to his arm. Elias gave her a lopsided grin. He seemed quite charming.
Very unlike a mad dog.
This masked marauder also seemed shorter than the man she had met last night, but none of the other ladies would know that.
Was he an imposter?
Nonsense, how was that possible? Elias's scarred jaw proved he was the real thing.
Celise leaned back against the column. It seemed useless to speculate. She knew more about his horse than the man himself. Perhaps Elias was a charming rake, after all.
She watched Ambrosia Verabon enter the crowd of preening ladies around the duke.
Uh-oh.
The women fluttered uneasily as the beautiful heiress entered their ranks.
Celise sensed some sort of drama about to start.
Katrina was just leaning up to catch Elias’s ear, her mouth open, perhaps to suggest another turn on the dance floor, when Elias looked up.
His eyes found Ambrosia standing before him with a coy smile on her lovely features.
He seemed captivated. Elias stepped away from Katrina and offered his arm to Ambrosia. The lady fluttered her fan in a cute way, as though flattered by the attention, then dipped into a gentle curtsy.
Katrina froze. She looked livid.
Ambrosia took Elias’s arm and swept past Katrina with a calculated little sneer, every movement dripping with a demure sort of triumph.
The quartet launched into a rollicking tune. The next dance began.
Celise watched Katrina grow pale as the duke spun Ambrosia around the dance floor in her violet dress. Another song picked up and still the couple danced under the sparkling chandeliers.
Another song.
Then another.
Still they danced.
Katrina stood alone, a flush of humiliation creeping into her cheeks. A group of young ladies stood nearby, whispering behind their fans. Ambrosia and Elias continued to dance a fourth round. Then a fifth. It seemed like a long time, even to Celise, who knew nothing about ballroom etiquette.
Finally, the musicians took another break. The handsome couple bowed to each other and left the dance floor arm in arm. Ambrosia leaned up to whisper something in Elias’s ear, and he laughed. Laughed.
Celise watched Katrina’s face crumple. With a soft cry, she turned and fled from the hall, ignoring the other well-meaning ladies who called after her.
Celise glanced around for Marcella or Heather but didn’t see either of them close by.
Then her eyes returned to Katrina, who had already fled halfway across the dance hall and showed no sign of stopping.
She appeared to be headed for the balcony at the back of the ballroom, which faced the rose gardens.
“Is she alright?” a familiar voice said by her side. Celise glanced over and caught Ismara’s concerned frown. “Someone should comfort her. Verabon is . . . chitma.”
“Cheedma?” Celise echoed.
“It’s not a name a lady would say. But she is . . . no good.”
Celise didn’t know what the word ‘cheedma’ meant, but she could guess. With a sigh, she realized she needed to follow Katrina. She had promised Marcella she wouldn’t leave Katrina’s side—for different reasons, of course. But Ismara was right. Someone should go and comfort her.
Celise sighed inwardly. But why does it have to be me?
Her feet took a slow step forward, even as her spirit recoiled. Her younger sister was a bully and a brute. She deserved to feel the sting of embarrassment.
Except . . . if Katrina failed to win the duke’s heart, Marcella’s wrath would be unrivaled. Like all of them, Katrina was just a victim of her mother’s schemes.
Celise felt her heart twist in unexpected sympathy. For a moment, she hated her own softness. But with a certain sense of inevitability, she knew she would follow her younger sister, if only to make sure she didn’t get lost on the grounds.
Imposter or not, he’s nothing but trouble, Celise thought, darting a glare at the Mad Dog duke.
Then she ran after Katrina with a groan of resignation.